Cotton Blossom
by Vaudevillain
Summary: The Adventures of Tom Saywer. A Showboat stops in St. Petersburg, and Tom and Huck are compelled to explore it. TomHuck.


**Cotton Blossom**

It was a balmy summer evening when the showboat came to St. Petersburg. The sun was setting amidst a blaze of orange and red when the soot-stained steamer crawled down the banks settling alongside the biggest pier, steam-whistle proclaiming its arrival. It was an ancient triple-decker riverboat, antique red, yellow, and blue paint peeling showing grey-brown wood underneath. Dim white gaslights were strung along the edges of the ship and around the railings, flickering and dancing like they were living sprites. The tinny sounds of a brass band wafted gently from the shore, delighting and entrancing the sleepy town.

By sundown quite a crowd had gathered around the torch-lit boat, upon which an elegantly moustachioed man was speaking in a booming, marvellous voice.

"Ladies _and_ gentlemen! My _friends_ of the _south!_ My name is _Samuel Chapman_, and I would like to _invite_ you, on this _fine_ summer's night, to join _me_ on my _showboat_, the _Cotton Blossom_, for a night of _fun_, _frolic_, and _fantasy!_" He twirled his moustache extravagantly, and the audience burst into silvery applause.

Tom Sawyer, who had spent the entire day following the riverboat on its lazy journey up the Mississippi, was in the very front row, watching Samuel Chapman indulge the crowd in what could be found onboard:

"Champagne, cards, girls in lace, theatre, dancing, music – from our very own Johnny York Brass Band – and everything else your pretty heads could imagine. Just pay the price – ten cents for adults, and only a nickel for the children – and all this could be yours. Doors open at eleven," he said, glancing at his pocket watch before bowing with a flourish and walking back inside the gas-lit leviathan. In his wake, the twirling brass band started to play again, yellow cocktail music drifting over the crowd like a pleasant wave.

"Can you believe it!" one woman said to another. "We ain't got a showboat down here since – since a'fore I was born!"

"Marvellous!" another said.

Then, Tom Sawyer heard a familiar sound: "Tom Saw_yer!_ Where are you? _Tom Sawyer_, if you don't come here right this instant, why, I'll wear you out faster'n you can say hickory!" Aunt Polly cried, her wrinkled hands set on her sharp hips.

Tom Sawyer heeded the call, weaving and winding his way through the excited audience to his Aunt's side. As quick as a flash, she had him by the ear, pulling him towards her angrily.

"Tom, why I _knew_ you'd be down here. I thought to myself at first, why no Tom's learnt his lesson from that business with Injun Joe, he'll know to mind his head about town. But then when I went to check on you a'fore you went to bed, there it was, bed empty and the window open an' blowing a gale through the room. It's shameful, Tom, shameful this showboat business, and I forbid you for goin' aboard –"

"But! –" Tom interjected, though his Aunt quickly cut off his line of complaint.

"Don't you give me that face, Tom Sawyer, my mind is made up and there ain't nothing you can do to change it."

"Oh, Aunt Polly!" Tom said bitterly, scuffing his foot against he ground.

"Now go back home and into yonder bed, I don't wanna hear another peep about this sinful boat, or you'll get a hiding you'll remember; and you mark my words, Tom. You mark 'em real well."

And Tom did mark her words, so he slunk back home, shoulders hunched and eyes dark and troubled. He kicked stones and dirt up into a frenzy on the way home, furious that he was denied such a fantastic adventure, and when he finally did reach the ramshackle house he slammed the door so fiercely it nearly bounced off its hinges. He undressed quickly and heatedly, throwing his shirt and shorts against the wall, where they landed in a cloud of dust.

Tom crawled into bed and extinguished his bedside light, though the moon, low and pearly in the night sky, was bright enough that it made little difference. He tried to sleep, rolling over and over, to and fro, but it was no use.

He thought he could hear, distantly, the tinkling sounds of ladies laughing, the sound of a shiny brass band puffing and playing and buzzing a dancing tune, perhaps belting out a waltz or two. Tom thought he could smell fried catfish and hard-baked cornbread and fresh peach preserves. His stomach grumbled and his heart was heavy; there was nothing to be done.

Time passed agonisingly slowly and Tom was sure now that he could smell a fresh red velvet cake. Just then, a pebble rapped on his bedroom window. Tom nearly threw himself out of bed, tearing open the sash and hoisting the window as fast as he could. Outside, standing in a pool of silvery light was Huckleberry Finn, dressed in nothing but a pair of dirty, threadbare overalls, a torn straw hat, and a grin as long as the Mississippi.

"Tom!" Huck whispered, "you seen the showboat down yonder?"

Tom nodded in reply, so as to not attract his Aunt's attention.

"Wanna head down with me? Give it a look?"

Tom nodded again, eagerly. He ran over to his discarded clothes, pulling on his shorts and shirt so fast he didn't even bother to button it up. He ducked under the windowsill, and throwing one leg over the edge, lowered himself to the ground as softly as a cat. He took Huckleberry round the shoulders for a quick embrace and then the two were off, hoping and skipping and tossing stones as they went.

The closer they got to shore, the more alluring the prospect became. The dim crackle of brass became elegant, dripping, lovely tunes. The smell of fried food was ripe, and the bubbles and bursts of laughter danced in the air like a pleasant rain.

When they neared the illuminated pier, Huck turned to Tom and asked: "You got a nickel?"

Tom rifled through his pockets and produced a couple of buttons, a piece of rounded class, and a broken tin whistle. He looked to his friend despairingly.

"Don't look at me," Huck said, "you know I ain't got a penny to my name."

"What're we gonna do then?" Tom asked, shoving the contents back into his pocket. "Ain't no fun just standing around here watchin' it."

Huck glanced to the boat, and suddenly his eyes lit up with a secret fire. "C'mere Tom, I think I have an idea."

Tom and Huck ran off into the shadows, their movements swift and agile. They slid through the night like phantoms, not causing so much as a rustle in the leaves as they passed. In short order, Huck had brought Tom to the far end of the riverboat, where the stern was caught up in the branches of a nearby tree.

"Gimme a lift," said Huck. Tom complied and hoisted his friend up to a thick branch. Balancing confidently on it, Huck lowered an arm for Tom, which the younger boy used to scramble his way up beside Huck. They sat there, perched on their branch like a couple of dirty sparrow, watching the boat with eagle eyes.

"I reckon it's a good two yards to the deck," Tom said, squinting.

"I'll try it," Huck said, and with one deft movement leapt from branch to boat, landing hard, though unhurt on the deck. "S'alright," Huck whispered, "you can make it, Tom."

Tom did so, but on his way over his feet knocked against the railing and he was sent tumbling forward onto the veneered wooden deck, landing in a sprawl of boy-limbs and curse words. Huck suppressed his laughter and helped Tom to his feet. Tom glanced around sheepishly to see if anyone had heard.

"C'mon," Huck said, "a'fore someone comes this way."

The two boys scrambled up the nearby pipe as quick as could be, finally crawling onto the flat black roof, which was presently outlined by the twinkling of silver gaslights. They made their way to the centre of ship and sat down, turning to gaze at the mess of stars overhead. They could feel the rumble and bellow of the boat beneath, could hear the crackling waltz of the band and the never-ceasing gales of laughter, raucous and bawdy coming from the party below. Tom and Huck stole a quick glance, each grinning as broadly as could be.

"What you reckon we should do first?" Tom asked, leaning up on his palms.

"Well," Huck said, "I say, why don't we go have a peek round the bow?"

Tom nodded and the friends made their way to the front of the ship. Lying flat on their stomachs, the boys stole glances over the edge to the deck below, and what they saw made their eyes light up with desire. Beneath them were rows upon rows of sumptuous food; fried okra and breaded steak and poke salad and all sorts of fish and pork and goat. Thick, frosted cakes and powdered cookies and every type of pudding you could imagine. Every now and again a body would pass by and Tom and Huck would pull back as quick as lightning, but they'd go right on back to staring.

"You reckon we could get our hands on some of that?" Tom asked in an excited hush.

Huck played with the thought, gazing back to the food, and then to his friend once more. "Grab my legs."

Tom grinned and took a firm hold of his friend's rolled cuffs. Huck, wriggling on his belly like a snake, inched himself over the edge of the roof. Soon his entire upper body was hanging free over the ledge, and as quick as could be, he dipped down and grabbed whatever food he could reach. He swung back up, tumbling directly into Tom's waiting arms.

Huck presented his spoils with pride: two thick pieces of cornbread, a floppy piece of fried steak, and – to Tom's wide-eyed surprise – a glittering green bottle of champagne.

"Oh, Huck!" Tom said excitedly. "You're a devil!" Huck grinned in response.

The two boys settled themselves beside the disused smoke stack and went to dividing the loot. They each got a piece of the soft warm cornbread and Huck tore the steak into two, giving Tom the bigger half. They ate in cheerful silence, watching the gaslights dancing about like fairies from storybooks.

Having finished their snack, Huck drew out his pipe and lit it with an old match. Taking a few thoughtful puffs, he handed it over to Tom, who sucked on it deeply, exhaling a ring of blue-grey smoke into the night air. His mouth was immediately filled with the memorable damp, earthy taste. Tom savoured it.

"S'nice night," Tom said indulgently.

"Mm," Huck replied, taking the pipe and sucking on it briefly. "You reckon," he turned to Tom as he spoke, "that Injun Joe's – you know, ghost, is gonna haunt us, Tom?"

Tom took the pipe and exhaled a wispy ring into the air before speaking. "I don't reckon so Huck, we warn't the ones who killed him."

"Well, hunger done that, but we were –"

Tom turned to Huck and looked him straight in the eyes: "No, Huck, it warn't even us who sealed up that cave. He'd be haunting Judge Thatcher if he was still about."

Huck thought on this for a moment, then said: "But Tom, we got his treasure. That book you read me afore, the ghost haunts whoever got his treasure. We got his treasure Tom, he's gonna haunt us."

Tom was silent. It was true; some ghosts did haunt their lost treasures. He blew another ring of blue smoke, which vanished in the air. Tom looked to his friend, who seemed dark and frightened.

"Don't be afeared, Huck," Tom said slowly, contemplating his words as he spoke. "We ain't got his treasure. Not _on_ us. It's being kept for us, saved. If Injun Joe gonna haunt anything, he'll haunt the bank."

And that was that. Huck brightened significantly at Tom's words, and went to cheerfully blowing on his pipe, smiling as he did so. "You know," said Huck, "I'm glad to have you about. I never got a decent night's sleep after we got that treasure. Ol' Jim, he said ghosts gone killed people afore. I couldn't sleep, I thought every shadow was Injun Joe just waiting to slit my throat –" Huck faltered, and looked to Tom, "– but, you reckon, just to be sure we're rid of him, we should do some sort of charm, or spell, or something to keep his spirit from coming to get us?"

Tom handed the pipe back to Huck and thought about it for a moment before saying: "I think maybe we should," he glanced about warily, "just, you know, to be sure."

Huck nodded and extinguished his pipe, tapping the ashes out onto the roof. He slid the pipe back into his pocket, and then picked up the glimmering bottle, which was sat pristinely between the two boys, a trophy of youthful rebellion. Huck tore off the thin foil and pulled on the cork, but the stopper wouldn't budge. Together, Tom and Huck managed to squeeze the cork out, which shot like a Chinese firework off the boat and landed, unseen and unheard into the river.

Crystal white bubbles immediately began to froth from the bottle-mouth, pouring over Huck's dirty hands and onto the rooftop. Tom laughed as Huck licked the sticky drink from his hands and the bottle.

"How's it taste?" Tom asked.

"Kinda sweet, but not sugar-sweet. Here, try," and he passed the bottle to Tom.

Tom nearly put the bottle to his lips, but an idea passed fast through his head. "Wait, we could do our spell with this – I heard about pirates who go and make charms on their rum, to keep the people they killed from coming back to haunt 'em."

"But it ain't rum" Huck said.

"I know it ain't rum, but this'll work just the same. Alright," Tom sat across from Tom, cross-legged, "now, we each say the charm together, then we each get a mouthful of the cham'pin and then we swallow and Injun Joe'll never come our way again."

Huck nodded and said: "Well, what are the words."

Tom paused and searched his memory. "I think they say: _on this rum, I swear and plea, keep them spirits away from me_."

Huck repeated. "On this rum, I swear and plea, keep them spirits away from me."

Tom nodded his approval and took a hold of the bottle. He swung it back and took a mouthful of the drink, and handed it to Huck. On Tom's nod, they both swallowed. It was a taste like none other; sweet and vibrant, with a subtle harshness to it. It was like drinking diamonds made liquid, or stars made syrup. Tom shivered and goose bumps crawled all over his arms and the back of his neck and down his back. It felt wonderful.

They spent the next hour passing the bottle back and forth, drinking the sugary liquid mouthful by mouthful, talking and laughing and remembering old adventures. The bottle was drained in short order, and Tom's head was beginning to spin, and he felt hot and light all over, like his head had been filled with cotton and clouds and sparkling lights. Altogether the world seemed clearer, colours brighter and the music more striking. Tom became intensely aware of himself, of the pins-and-needles in his fingers, the vinegary-sweet taste in his mouth, the dull ache from where he had fallen on the deck. He was also acutely aware that Huck was looking at him, almost appraising him, scanning him, embracing him.

Suddenly, a whim struck Tom and he jumped up like he was hit by lightning. He spun around and looked down at Huck with shimmering eyes.

"C'mere," Tom said brightly. Huck gave him a cock-eyed glance. "Just c'mere, Huck. Please?"

Huck got up reluctantly and stood across from Tom. As if on cue, the band started playing the meandering tune of a slow waltz, copper notes dripping in the air. Tom smiled sheepishly and stuck out a hand: "Dance with me for a bit?" He had a crazy, innocent glint in his eyes; one Huck couldn't avoid, even if he tried. Huck glanced about before giving Tom an awkward grin and taking the boy's hand. Tom pulled in close, his hand sliding along the older boy's waist. Dragging Huck into a sloppy waltz, Tom led them about the moonlit rooftop, laughing and humming and tumbling as they danced. Soon the boys were laughing so hard they could barely move, much less dance, so they resigned themselves to standing still, wavering back and forth, holding on to each other tightly, almost desperately.

Then the laughter died down and there was nothing left but their hands, and their fleeting glances, and the moon and the stars above. Tom didn't move, and neither did Huck.

"Y'know…" Tom began, but trailed off aimlessly. Huck moved his lips ineffectually before settling on a calm silence. Hesitantly, desperately slowly Huck pulled Tom closer, holding the shorter boy fast against his chest, unsure of what he was doing, or why. Tom, too blurry-eyed and light-headed from the champagne, didn't object and instead welcomed Huck's embrace, even going as far as to lean into him, pulling him closer.

"Tom," Huck eventually mumbled into Tom's hair, breath warm on the younger's ear. "I – I think maybe we should – should –" Tom let go before Huck could even finish his sentence, taking a few abrupt steps away from the older boy, turning bright red as he did.

"Sorry, was just, you know, tired." Tom massaged the back of his neck restlessly.

"No," Huck mumbled, "nev'mind Tom, nev'mind. It was – nev'mind." He sat abruptly against the unused chimney pipe once more. He took out his pipe, fondled it for a few moments, rifled around his pockets for some tobacco, and on finding nothing, slid the pipe into his mouth and went through the motions, sucking onto the tip pensively.

Tom stood a ways away, glancing about the scenery as if searching for some answer, some direction. Producing none, he went back to glancing at Huck furtively, reaching for something to say.

"Listen, Huck, that was just –"

"I said nev'mind Tom, it was just a bit of dancing, ain't nothing to it."

Tom nodded. "Right."

The party below was dying down, and people were leaving the showboat in ones and twos, and then in groups until the laughter had all but died and the band stopped playing their mellow waltzing music.

"Listen, Tom, you can c'mere. I don't mind." Huck budged over a bit so tom could sit comfortably beside him. Tom did so, hesitantly at first, but soon assumed his regular slouch and lean, his entire body slumping against the chimney pipe casually. Huck said: "Don't like seeing you worked up, Tom. Ain't natural, ain't the Tom I know."

"Ain't getting' worked up, just thought… you know. Didn't know what you'd do."

Huck was silent, sucking on his empty pipe, breathing deeply, even a bit raggedly. Then he spoke, so soft that Tom could barely hear him, "You can come closer if you like. I reckon I'd like if you did."

Then, as sudden as a bolt of lightning, the gaslights went off, and the world was plunged into fresh darkness, though the moon was still bright enough to read by. In that one action though, the world became sudden still, as quiet as a graveyard and calmer than death. Huck felt Tom stir beside him.

Eventually, as if with forced willingness, Tom leaned into Huck's shoulder, sliding down a bit as he did. As soon as he did, Huck lifted his arm and brought it around Tom's shoulders, pulling the boy in close. It was only a matter of time before Tom was curled up tight against Huck's side, his eyes drooping as the night wore on. Huck stroked Tom's hair absently, gazing out over the Mississippi and beyond, to the star strewn sky without really seeing it.

Before he even realised he was speaking, words were tumbling out of Tom's mouth, like a dam suddenly broken: "Y'know Huck, I always admired you," Tom stirred under Huck's embrace, nuzzling into the boy's side restlessly, "you always been the outcast, y'know? You done your own thing. I always wished I coulda skipped school and gone with you s'more, out yonder. Sleep in barrels, not needing to go to school or church and just take what the day'd bring us. I kinda envied you…" his voice trailed off, then silence reigned.

"Go t'sleep, Tom," Huck said, feeling newly responsible.

"Can we go fishin' tomorrow, Huck?" Tom mumbled distantly, "Please? We ain't been fishing in an age…"

"Sure can, Tom."

"Good…."

"Now go t'sleep." Tom mumbled something, but Huck didn't need to say it twice: in a matter of moments Tom Sawyer was fast asleep; his breathing rhythmic, lids closed on hazel eyes.

"You're crazy Tom. Real crazy," Huck whispered, stroking the younger boy's hair affectionately. "Dunno what I'd do without you, though."


End file.
